The Virtue of Catnaps
by Zaedah
Summary: She swore he looked like an angel... an angel with the devil’s temperament. Final chapter posted.
1. Chapter 1

Part one for all those dedicated MI fans who still hold onto the dream… This takes place just prior to the Series ending Colima trip.

**The Virtue of Catnaps**

Stillness had reached the Chicago Baptist Hospital cardiac wing for the first time in 3 days. The NIH team had been catching catnaps between crises, except for one. Stephen Connor led the group of doctors in an effort to save the young people who had been suffering unexplained heart attacks. The cause had been determined yet again through what Powell called Connor's psychic ability. All they could do now was wait for the treatment's response. Natalie Durant fought to stifle her yawns as she made her way to the designated war room, who's previous incarnation had been an unused cafeteria. Stephen hadn't slowed down since their arrival, which was normal. But he had seemed overly tired today. Now was the perfect time for him to rest. Tomorrow would come soon enough. As would the expected argument. She found him at his laptop, likely contingency planning for a negative response from his patients.

She found herself enthralled by his silhouette against the dimly lit room. His black t-shirt showed every muscle in his strong upper body. The moonlight from the window lit his white-blond hair, and she swore he looked like an angel; an angel with the devil's temperament.

"Stephen?" She whispered from the doorway, not wishing to startle him. He failed to acknowledge her, focused solely on his work. But he'd heard; the subtle shift in posture said as much. "We can't do anymore tonight. Get some sleep."

"Later." His preoccupied voice was laden with exhaustion.

She stood behind him, bringing both hands up to massage his shoulders. The tension in his muscles told her all she needed to know. Almost imperceptibly, Stephen leaned back into her touch and she smiled. Had Eva attempted this, there would have been a vicious scolding. Natalie supposed she should feel privileged.

"You're going to collapse if you don't get some rest."

He shook his head. "When I'm done."

Applying extra pressure to prove her point, Nat was not taking a no. Already vowing not to sleep again herself until he did, the yawn she awkwardly stifled made her sleepiness more pronounced. "You'll think more clearly in the morning. Let this go for a while."

She felt him tense under her grasp and she slowly removed her hands. All of his 'back off' signs were well catalogued in her brain.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." And no mirror was needed to debate that.

Her insistence obviously hit a nerve. He turned back to the screen. "I'll get this done faster with less… distractions."

It was rather warming to be considered a distraction. Leaning over him, Nat laid a hand on the laptop cover and closed it. Stephen turned his unnaturally blue eyes to her with a mixture of annoyance and fatigue.

"I told you, I'm fine."

"And I've heard that before. I don't buy it tonight."

"Natalie…"

"You don't eat enough, you don't sleep enough. You're as tense as Miles on evaluation day." Natalie spoke firmly, refusing to acknowledge the grin he very nearly let show at the last comment. "I'm worried about you. And you're not helping." And with that, the grin was gone.

"That's not your job." He fired back before taking a deep breath. "There's more than just this case to deal with." His voice betrayed a forced calm as he lifted the computer cover.

Natalie threw up her hands. "Let someone else deal with it. Whatever it is. You can't go days on ends without rest."

Connor's eyes left hers as he shook his head. "I don't need a lecture."

"What _do_ you need?" She demanded before she could catch her words. They were venturing into the personal, a dangerous path they both typically ran from.

"I need to finish this." He spoke in a softer tone, signaling the end to the discussion.

"You know what I need?" At his silence, she continued. "I need to know what goes on in your head sometimes." She ran a hand through her hair, knowing the battle was lost.

"Nat, find something to do or turn in. Please." He dismissed her and returned to his work. Natalie huffed in frustration, stalking out of the room and directly into Powell. He put his hands up defensively.

"Slow down, girl. What's the rush?"

"He drives me insane!" She declared and Frank didn't need to ask whom. He steered her down the empty corridor, out of earshot of the old cafeteria.

"It's part of the boss's charm. So, what now?"

Where should she start? "He's beyond exhausted and refuses to take a moment's rest."

Frank chuckled, knowing Stephen far too well to be surprised. "And… this is unusual?"

"He makes sure everyone else gets rest on these long trips. And he's not above intimidation. Ask Miles. But himself?"

A sigh. They'd had this conversation before and nothing changed. "Man's driven. Always has been, always will be." Powell explained as though it should be sufficient.

Natalie groaned, not at all satisfied. "But does he have to be so…" Was there even a word for it?

"Look, there's… something in him that won't leave him be. So he doesn't need us harping on him."

Natalie sighed. "If he doesn't start taking care of himself…"

Eva Rossi entered the hallway, taking in the serious looks of the pair before her. "Problem?"

"No," Frank smiled. "S'all good."

"Okay." Eva shrugged, straightened her designer pant suit and marched into the war room. Simultaneous wishes of good luck ran through Frank and Natalie's heads.

Powell turned back to Nat to see her anger had dissipated somewhat by the interruption. "Nat, Connor's had an aversion to sleep since I've known him. He says his brain doesn't turn off. He doesn't know how to stop and he's not gonna change."

Nat shook her head. "But it's been worse lately. You've seen it. He'll fall apart one day because no one forced him to stop."

Laying an understanding hand on her shoulder, Frank sighed. "You can't force him to do anything. Especially right now. The divorce has been hard on him. So let him alone, okay?"

Powell walked away, not catching the stunned expression that slammed into her. Divorce? When did this happen. Her brain tried to sort through the emotions the news created. Images came unbidden to her mind. His arm around her shoulder as she cried against his chest; her hand on his shoulder after the Caribbean case; her arms thrown around his neck at the ice station. He was divorced. He was…single. And he kept this pain to himself, as always. Work was his drug of choice, she knew. And it had cost him dearly.

An hour passed in the company of patients, checking the margin of improvements. They were so young, just beginning to scratch the surface of adulthood. Most didn't know what they wanted to be yet. There had to be fairness in her world and Natalie just couldn't find it some days. So she looked for something else. Or someone.

She found Connor by the window, the computer still humming on the table. His customary black coffee was in hand, the need for caffeine not unusual for him. The heavy rain had his partial attention; the rest of his focus was elsewhere.

"I can be trusted, you know," she began.

He seemed to consider this for a moment. "I know."

"Do you?" Standing before him, she felt the tension radiating from him. "Then don't shut me out. Talk to me."

"Drop it, Nat." Anger tinged his voice, but she pressed on.

"I can't do that." His jaw tightened and she knew she was pushing far too hard.

"I don't want to fight with you."

She grinned, "Why not? People already think we're married."

That earned her the slightest smile. "So I hear."

Turning to the rain, she followed the streams of water gliding down the glass. A series of lightening bolts struck and she watched the brilliant light catch his ice blue eyes, turning them clear.

Stephen sensed her studying him and turned to her. Summoning her courage, she spoke. "There's a bed in the next room with your name on it. Please?"

For a few moments, the weight of his silence stilled her heart. He was struggling with something and she had to give him time.

"I don't… I don't sleep well." He spoke so quietly, she almost missed the words under the pounding rain. "Haven't since the Gulf War."

The admission took her by surprise. "Dreams?" She surmised and he nodded slightly. "What do you see?"

"Things I don't want to remember. And when I wake up… I forget where I am. Until my mind catches up with the present… I'm lost."

She couldn't control the tears that threatened to fall. "What happened?" came her choked whisper.

Stephen met her pleading gaze for a moment before turning away. "Don't ask me that."

Knowing what it had taken for him to explain so much, Natalie expressed her gratitude by saying nothing further. His hand rose to wipe a tear from her cheek. And the raw emotion she found in his eyes brought sobs to her throat. Forcing them down was physically difficult.

"I'm sorry," she finally spoke as she covered his hand with hers, holding his palm against her cheek. Turning her face, she laid a lingering kiss on his wrist. It was a boundary she shouldn't have crossed and Stephen gently pulled his hand from her grasp.

An almost apologetic half-smile graced his features. "So… a bed with my name on it?"

Natalie knew he was trying to appease her and she accepted it. In a fit of boldness, she took his arm and led him from the room to the tiny excuse for a lounge. Drawing him inside, she shut off the overhead lights and locked the door. Her actions clearly surprised him, evidenced by the questioning expression.

"Nat…"

"Sleep. Now." She pointed to the spare hospital bed someone had the foresight to stash here. She intended to nominate the stranger for sainthood. Stephen looked to the bed, then to her and ducked his head in defeat. Natalie strolled across the room and extinguished the only remaining lamp, then sat on the mattress, awaiting him. Even in the darkness, his eyes betrayed his confusion.

Her embarrassingly silly grin was over the top but it wouldn't go away. "You don't think I'd trust you to stay here more than a minute, do you? You're stuck with me."

Connor hesitated and then a visible sigh signaled his assent. A determined woman was not to be argued with, her snug grin explained. His cell phone was unceremoniously dropped on the table, though they both knew it wouldn't remain silent for long. Boots were kicked off and he sank back into the mattress. Her heels were tossed on the floor before she settled beside him, a respectable distance between them. He tucked an arm under the pillow as she drew a comforter over them. The success of her bold decisions tonight encouraged her to erase a final barrier. Casually, she slid an arm across his stomach, then held her breath. Rather than reject the contact, Stephen merely covered her hand with his. Her head began a slow spin at the feelings welling inside her at this show of trust. Stephen quickly faded, but Natalie found herself wide awake, content to watch over him. The familiarity was unexpected, the lack of awkwardness compelling. She allowed herself to want him in a way she'd long denied herself and admitted the truth for the first time. She was in love with him. It wasn't just his eyes, his voice, his body. Every woman at NIH fawned over those features. She loved his heart, his soul and the personality that made him unique; demanding, impossible, uncompromising, brilliant, compassionate, stubborn and charming.

Time passed all too quickly as dreams enveloped him. Muscles tensed, breathing grew erratic and 20 minutes of peace dissolved into restlessness. Nat laid a hand on his face but he moved away as though her touch was fire. She called to him softly and he gradually stilled without waking. Throwing caution aside, she drew her arm up around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder. Having locked the door to prevent them from being disturbed, she now saw the added benefit of not being discovered. Their present closeness would have been impossible to explain. A sigh of contentment escaped her, and her fingers stroked his platinum hair. Just as consciousness abandoned her, she thought she heard him sigh too.

_There were dreams. They were searching for a cure, arguing as they pushed open lab doors that led outside. Then they were house hunting, teasing as they weighed their options. Would Jack like this one? Was there enough room for the baby? The sunlight lent a softer glow to his blond hair, which was a bit longer now. She ran her hands through it as they chose the home behind them. The blue of his eyes were even more astounding in the natural light of the beautiful day. She felt radiant beside him. Then she was kissing him, loving him and he returned it. The ring on his finger was different from the one she remembered. It resembled her own._

Somewhere in the haven of her peaceful sleep, Natalie slowly registered movement. Through the blur of barely open eyes, she realized that Stephen's restlessness had returned with force. Snapping to attention, Natalie rose to lean on an elbow. His head tossed from side to side, breathing irregular and hands clenched. She laid a hand on his arm but he tensed further, pulling out of her grasp. Tamping down the sting of rejection, she began calling to him. Her voice slowly reached him, but failed in its intent. Wherever he was in his mind, her whispers must have sounded like shouts. Stephen winced each time she called to him, his muscles fighting against an invisible force. Earlier, she'd been warmed by his presence, but now Nat's skin tingled at the chill in the air. He was so far away from her, so deep in what he was reliving. Something seemed to hold him down and her hand clutching his arm only aided that perception.

Realizing her mistake, she loosened her hold, sliding her hand up to his shoulder. Roughly shaking him, Natalie jumped back as he bolted upright. Instinctively, his hand gripped her wrist tight enough to make her yelp. Blue eyes took in everything and nothing, until they fell on her reddening arm. Stephen immediately released her, and she could see the confusion fading into guilt. With a hand on his chest, she pushed him back onto the mattress as he fought for breath. Natalie waited for him silently as his words echoed in her head.

'_I forget where I am... I'm lost… Don't ask me…'_ If he suffered these dreams every time he slept, his avoidance of the human requirement was suddenly understandable.

"Stephen?" She spoke cautiously and he met her gaze.

"I'm sorry. I didn't…" Her finger across his lips silenced him.

"What did you see?"

"I don't remember." It was a practiced answer and Nat wondered how many times he'd use it with his wife.

There was no point calling him on the lie; he'd only leave, which would ensure no sleep for either of them. Natalie pulled his arm aside and took position more fully against him. Resting her head on his chest, she reached back to the arm she'd displaced. Her hand found his and she drew it across her waist. Stephen hesitated, knowing the line she was crossing, but the little sleep he'd gotten clouded his judgment. As she wrapped her arm around his neck, he tightened his hold on her. And it felt like victory. The rest she received supplemented the break he'd insisted she take yesterday. Feeling his body under hers and listening to his heartbeat was far too amazing to sleep through. Had he not been so tired, Stephen would have never allowed this. And he would undoubtedly put greater distance between them later. But at this moment, they laid entwined, moonlight washing over them.

He was fighting sleep. The tense muscles and halted breathing told her as much. He'd managed 40 minutes at most and this could not begin to combat his level of exhaustion. Before she could put thought to it, her fingers were massaging the nape of his neck. The contact soothed him into sleep, muscles gradually relaxing around her.

In the complete comfort of her current position, Natalie fell deeper in love with him. If only it this were real, she mused sadly. Did he even know who was in his arms? Would he be furious that she used his exhaustion to get close to him? These thoughts only made her cling tighter to him, sliding her leg between his and letting the intimacy spin her head. The movement caused him to stir, but he settled quickly. Tilting her head so she could watch him, she ran a knuckle down his temple and along his jaw. Reaching up, she fingered the short waves in his hair. Though Powell called him an albino, she knew the platinum color was far from natural, but she couldn't imagine him without it. Of course, he was pale enough. And those eyes… the lightest blue possible.

When she first came to NIH, she was warned about her new boss. Dr. Connor was a perfectionist with a boxer's build and a lightening quick temper. Just as panic had set in, another nurse took her aside and confirmed all of it was true.

'_However,' the woman said and then suddenly pointed to a man with exotic looks in a black t-shirt and jeans. "You see that astonishingly sexy guy?" The nurse had asked and Nat had to keep from whistling._

"_Uh huh. Too bad Dr. Connor can't look like him."_

"_Honey, that __is__ him."_

Natalie remembered a more recent conversation with that way sexy guy. She asked if the fawning ever got old for him. Stephen truly didn't seem to notice. The ringing phone, however, could not be missed. Stephen jolted awake, nearly colliding with her as he reached for his cell. He held it to his chest for a moment, letting it ring until he got his bearings.

"Connor." His voice was barely a whisper.

Nat used his distraction to subtly untangle herself from him. Stephen covered his eyes with a hand while the caller rambled. The words were muffled but she could assume it was NIH. And by his silence, it wasn't Kate Ewing.

"Send it to me." Stephen shut the phone and tossed it on the side table.

"Another case?" She pried casually. He rubbed his temples, only answered by way of a slight nod. "I'll bring your laptop and you can go over it right here." She patted the mattress for emphasis and added, "Later."

He turned and fixed her with an intense glare. "I'll get the laptop. You get breakfast. Now."

"Breakfast in bed?" She teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't push your luck." His tone was stern, but his eyes betrayed his amusement.

He put on his boots and rose from the bed, turning back to her to find her hands outstretched. Taking them, he pulled her up to her knees. When he failed to let go, Natalie summoned her courage and leaned up to kiss him. With her lips inches from his, Stephen pulled away slightly and she knew the chance was gone.

"We can't." He barely whispered.

"Why?" She watched as his eyes clouded with regret.

"You want that list alphabetized?"

Nat held his gaze for a moment, then smiled through the dagger in her heart. She could argue this until Armageddon but he'd never budge. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Coffee. Lots of coffee." He backed away, removing himself from temptation and the cell phone rang again. As he answered, he moved further from her and she felt the chill of the separation. Grabbing her heels, she left the bed and headed to the door. Coffee. He wanted coffee and she would supply it as a peace offering. They would go back to the professionalism she hated and the night would be ignored. But did she imagine it, or were his eyes following her exit? Powell met her in the hall. The man was sporting a grin the size of their Escalade.

"Have a nice catnap?"

She should have played it cool and detached, but there was something about the glint in his eyes that inspired her.

"You have no idea." She threw over her shoulder as she headed for the lab. His laughter traveled with her.


	2. Chapter 2

Further proof that love isn't fair. Nor easy. Nor convenient. At this stage, we are with the team in their series ending vacation spot. Where there is life, death and the usual arguments.

**The Virtue of Capnaps (Part 2)**

The Colima afternoon was stifling hot and dusty. The patients were dying at a slower rate now, a sad statistic to go by to prove success. Relaxing was beginning to appear possible eventually. Well, perhaps not relaxing so much as breathing without fear. The still-packed hospital was a bit less cramped and NIH members were afforded a measure of talk time between the sick. Natalie began hearing whispers about events occurring before Connor and Powell arrived here. Stephen had been missing for 36 hours; had been brought into HQ by Frank; had looked like he'd been drinking.

Despite these rumors, she remembered with a smile waking up under rubble to find him there. Since then, he'd found Miles, stolen back their hijacked medicine and taken some to the northern villages. Powell told her he'd made 2 promises to the rebel leader; meds would be brought north and his 2 sons would receive treatment in safety. The latter vow had been broken against Stephen's will. The boys were taken into custody. His devastation was palpable, consuming whatever hope he'd held onto during this trip. And she began to believe the rumors.

Not many wanted to deal with the dead. The living provided far more hope than the departed. But Stephen seemed to welcome the quiet offered by the makeshift morgue. After checking on the tiny newborn one last time, Natalie's feet guided her to the basement. The air was several degrees cooler, the atmosphere utterly still and she could understand why her boss would choose to be down here. Powell was just coming through the door as she reached for it.

"How is he?" She asked nonchalantly.

Powell shrugged, as though unwilling to betray a confidence. But she wasn't accepting this reply.

"Frank, I know something's wrong." She made sure to use her best 'don't bother trying' tone.

Frank backed her up a few steps away from the door. "He's just tired." He then tried to get past her but the narrow hall and her hand on his arm prevented escape.

"It's more than exhaustion, more than those 2 boys. Tell me." Her firm voice wavered his resolve but loyalty kept his answer brief.

"You didn't hear this," he prefaced. "Before we got here, he was talking about leaving. And it was no idle threat. He's just…" He shrugged again. "Maybe you need to talk to him. Maybe… maybe he'll hear you."

"Or maybe I'll make it worse."

"It couldn't _be_ worse." Skirting around her, he disappeared up the stairs.

Squaring her shoulders, Natalie walked through the heavy door and closed it carefully. Stephen, dressed in a clean black t-shirt, gave no indication he was aware of her arrival. She passed the corpses and made her way to the table where Stephen stood, immersed in papers. Nat awaited his acknowledgement, which was slow in coming. When he finally lifted his gaze to her face, the momentary glance she got told her everything and nothing about his state of mind. He quickly returned his attention to the work before him.

"Need something?" His voice was cold and detached.

_Aside from you_, she thought before mentally slapping herself.

"Just needed proof that you are, in fact, still alive." A daring finger reached up to caress his two-day old stubble. The contact brought his eyes back to hers. Connor moved away from her touch, the solemnness never leaving his features.

"Alive," he confirmed. "Dying would require time." Low and bitter, his tone did not scare her off.

"So does making important decisions." Her meaning was not lost on him.

A hint of anger flashed through his blue eyes. "Talked to Powell, I presume."

"He's concerned about you."

The rationalization was not well received and the stack of files bore the brunt of his slammed fist. "I don't need his concern. Or yours."

Stephen walked to the other side of the room, leaving her to absorb the venom. Hating to pick a fight, Natalie knew it was the only way to get him talking. Taking a steadying breath, she turned on her heel and followed him to the unused work station in the far corner.

"Do you even _know_ what you need?" Despite the aim with which Natalie tried to throw that question, he didn't even spare her a glance.

"I need everyone to leave me alone." The harsh whisper pierced as surely as a shout.

"I can't do that." She held her ground despite the pleading tone that escaped her.

"Why?" He demanded.

Confession time, she decided. "Because you mean too much to me."

"I shouldn't," he countered.

Could he ask for something more impossible? "How can you say that?"

Finally, his eyes met hers and she began to wish they hadn't. For it was one of those soul-penetrating gazes from which she couldn't hide. A tilt of the head and clearly she was in trouble.

"You care about all your bosses this way?"

Inside, his self-protecting jab stung her deeply, but she refused to show it. Of course, replying with utter truth didn't quite belong in this moment. Whether he asked for it or not, he wasn't ready to hear it. Sitting on a rusty stool just behind her, she never breaking eye contact.

A deep breath gave her no additional steadiness, so she opted for a different tactic. "Just talk to me."

The gaze from those marvelous eyes dropped to the floor. The argument was over. Nothing resolved. "Nat… I can't."

"Because it's too hard or because you still don't trust me?"

Stephen was silent for a moment and she could see the inner battle over how much to trust her. Finally, he turned back to her with a sigh.

"Why do you torture me like this?" The lack of bitterness in his tone told her it was safe to breathe.

"Because secretly, you love it." He hadn't answered her question, but this was hardly surprising.

He watched her grin grow and hung his head is defeat, the slightest smile tugging at his lips. "You're a difficult woman, Dr. Durant."

Natalie nearly snorted. "Oh no, Dr. Connor. You far outclass me in that regard. Mr. Impossible."

Stephen looked up, as sincere an expression as she'd ever seen. "I don't mean to be." No closer would he ever get to an apology. For anything. Ever.

"I know." Natalie covered his hand with hers. "But you have to trust someone eventually."

A shake of the head. "It's not that easy."

Rising, she moved around the table, keeping her hand connected with his until she stood before him. Disappointment coursed through her when he slipped his hand out of her grasp. And then, she ruined the moment by not clamping down on her lips.

"Tell me about the nightmares."

Moving away from her almost imperceptibly, Stephen turned to lean against the table, his gaze to the reddening sky, just visible from the ground level window.

"I told you not to ask me that." His whisper threatened to break her heart but she pressed on.

"Tell me what happened before coming here."

Though he hadn't moved, she felt him put a distance of light years between them. "It doesn't matter."

Reaching up, she laid a hand to his face and turned him to her. His eyes focused on nothing at all, least of all her. "Tell me why you needed to drink."

This awarded her his full attention and Natalie knew she had crossed the line. But the man refused to answer a single question. The vacant stare was replaced by fury at her invasion. Stepping away from her, Connor walked to the middle of the corpse-filled room as if to depart. But a sudden change of mind brought him spinning back to face her.

"Tell _me_ something. Why do you need to know?"

"Because I'm worried about you." She insisted but recognized the ground she was losing. 'Argue stage' take 2.

Incredulous barely described his expression. "And again, it's not your job."

Backpedalling wouldn't work and now she felt her defensiveness kick in. "You make it my job when I watch you fall apart right in front of me." She hadn't meant to yell it.

"What do you want to hear, Nat? I'm an alcoholic." He announced as if she should already know and she began to tremble. "I've been sober for ten years. But I didn't just _fall_ off the wagon. I burned it to the ground." He approached her again, voice lowering. "God help you if you ask me to tell you why."

Stunned into silence, Natalie could only watch as Stephen abruptly left the morgue. Surrounded by the dead, she heard her heartbeat pounding in her ears, filling the room. The vision of his pale blue eyes churned into a storm remained with her as she sat on her stool once again, too lost to attempt upright movement. A few moments after her thoughts swirled into a jumbled disaster, Eva entered, looking around and finding her alone.

"I thought I heard voices," the young woman explained and Natalie could not contain the sudden tears. Eva froze for a split second before running over to her, wrapping her arms around Nat's sob-wracked body. She felt like an idiot, being hugged and comforted for her own stupidity. Someone needed to slap her and good for pushing him. For blowing another chance at forward progress with him. But mostly, she cried for him leaving the safety of his wagon and her not being there to help him climb back onboard.

A soft voice whispered in her ear. "I know. It's okay. We're doing the best we can. The patients understand." Eva tried to console, but Natalie shook her head.

"He doesn't understand." She whispered between choked breaths.

Eva pulled away slightly. "Who do you mean?" Breathing was next to impossible as Eva patiently rubbed her back, waiting for clarification. None was forthcoming, so she asked again. "Who has you so upset? And what don't they understand?"

A throat was cleared and the women both turned to the door. "It's okay, Eva. I got this," Frank announced and Eva reluctantly agreed. He whispered his thanks to the departing press op before moving to stand before Nat, a hand on her shoulder as she fought to collect herself.

"You know, don't you?" Natalie stated with a sniff. "You have to tell me."

"Nat, I can't. You know how private Connor is. He'd never forgive me."

Jumping to her feet, Nat shrugged off his hand. "This is killing him… and I don't even know what _it_ is! He picked up a bottle again? You didn't tell me that. Or that it was ever a problem before."

Frank put up his hands in defense. "It's not up to me to explain anything. Look, I know how you feel about him, but…"

"No, you don't. Or you would have told me." An accusing finger was thrusting into his chest as she spoke.

Frank nodded. "I do understand that you care about him…"

"I love him, Frank." Three hearts stopped at this declaration. Frank stared at Natalie, who stood shocked that she'd said it aloud. Eva, who had rather childishly hidden behind the door, nearly fell through it. And she understood what Nat was saying before. It was Stephen that didn't understand.

Regaining his power of speech, Frank sat on the stool she'd vacated. "But you're asking too much from him."

"So maybe it's time I asked you." Natalie brushed her disheveled hair from her face. "What happened to him in the Gulf War?"

Hands went up in surrender. "He doesn't talk about it." Frank stated simply.

"Why did he and his wife divorce?"

Hands went down, possibly to hide the forming fists. "He doesn't discuss it." Frustration was beginning to seep into his voice.

"What set him off this weekend?"

Now his jaw was clenching as he spat put, "He wouldn't want me to say."

Sighing, Natalie knew this was futile and threw her own hands up in defeat. "But you know. All of it." And he slowly nodded in reply.

"You mean what you said?" The question was gently asked now that the interrogation was over.

"Doesn't matter. He'll never trust me. Never let me in. Never love me in return."

Frank moved to leave but stopped short. "So, you'll just give up on him?"

Nat resumed her placed on the stool and gathered her thoughts before attempting to vocalize them. "Remember that night in Chicago when I forced him to sleep? I climbed into bed with him and he held me for hours. He was so plagued with nightmares and wouldn't confide them to me. But I… I thought he might actually allow me to..." She shook her head, knowing words couldn't paint the picture. They could hardly reach the canvas. "Every time I get too close to him, he shuts down, pushes me away. He's doing it right now, while we sit here and nothing I do to counter it is working."

Powell, for lack of a satisfying answer, pulled her into a loose embrace, where the tears spilled fresh on his dirt-plastered shirt. Behind the door, another woman cried too. For the unfairness of love.


	3. Chapter 3

Oh, her kingdom for a better poker face.

**The Virtue of Catnaps (Part 3)**

Natalie found him out on the back railing. Connor had found a moment to shave before coming here to watch the sunset from an old bench. His head turned slightly when her footfalls echoed on the broken cement, but he said nothing. Standing behind his left shoulder, she fought the urge to touch him, opting to use her voice to do the reaching.

"I had no right," she began. "No right to demand explanations that you aren't ready to give."

Turning back to her, Stephen nodded, accepting her roundabout apology in his own roundabout way. The fading sun cast its dying embers across the grounds before them and it seemed for a time that the view alone would hold his attention. Prepared to abide by the unspoken expectation of her leaving, Natalie was glad she hesitated in stepping back to the door. Because he slid to the end of the bench, making room for her to join him.

Perhaps she make another stab at an apology? "Listen, I know I asked too many questions, but I…"

Stephen held up a hand, quite effectively fusing her lips together. His gaze remained on the deepening shades of red that coaxed the land to hide in the falling night.

"You need to let me finish," he whispered and her stillness provided her agreement. "My son is also asking questions I can't answer. I was completely unprepared for his question this weekend." He fell silent for a moment and she knew better than to inquire about the question. "I saw my father drink after my sister died. It was his solution to everything. And I was always too much like him. Lisa begged me to stop when Jack was born. Made me swear to get control over it. I thought I had." A shrug, so much a gesture of hopelessness. "But it was so easy this time."

The disgust in his voice showed her how much his slip had cost him. Unable to stop herself, she put a hand on his shoulder and the weight of her touch removed the weight of his anger. But not his despair.

"I can't do this again. I can't lose him, too." His soft whisper drove her to her knees. Sitting before him, Natalie took his hands in one of hers. Unashamed of her tears, Nat drew her free arm around his neck, fingers lightly stroking his short hair.

"Stephen, I'm sorry I pushed you. Pried where I didn't belong."

He rested his forehead against hers with a sigh. "I never said you didn't belong…"

Natalie's lips brushing his silenced him. This was the start of a kiss he hadn't allowed in Chicago. She tried to deepen it, and for an impressive ten seconds he permitted it. All too soon, however, reason collided with want and he pulled away. She found herself under his studying gaze as he trying to decipher her intention, but she dared not make any declarations. For now, it was enough to have that brief moment of intimacy.

"I'm taking time off." He confessed. "I don't know when I'll be back." The 'when' carried a shade of 'if' and the newly familiar panic rose. Wasn't this what Frank indicated earlier?

Forcing lightness into her face and tone, Natalie tried for teasing. "Planning on disappearing again?"

Stephen's eyes caught the tiniest spark, neon sign above him flashing '_busted_.' Clearly, she wasn't supposed to know about his recent Houdini act. "Something like that. I promised Jack I would. And I've broken enough promises of late."

Watching his expression darken at the last comment, she cast a brief eye back to the hospital. "You're including those boys with those promises, aren't you? It wasn't your fault."

Shaking his head, he rose from the bench, pulling her with him. "Tell that to their father."

Why did she have the colossally sinking feeling Stephen would be doing just that. "You're going north, aren't you? To see him?"

"In the morning." The confirmation was spoken in a no-argument tone. She knew the danger, but also understood there'd be no talking him out of it. Connor hadn't released her hand and she tightened the grip, steering him gently inside.

"Then you'd better get some rest tonight."

"I won't be able to sleep." He dismissed her idea and began heading back to the morgue.

"Yes, _we_ will." Natalie presented her own 'no-argument' voice and he stopped at the heavy basement door. She could see his resolve crumbling and stepped in for the kill. "I'll wake you when the dreams start."

"If I don't sleep, there'll be no dreams," he countered.

Natalie smiled at the attempt. "And how long have you been operating under that philosophy?"

He bowed his head, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. "Too long."

Within those two words lay an entire lifetime of hiding. That's what it truly came down to, she suspected. Cover the pain. As if refusing to acknowledge the imperfections took their power. Time must have shown him the flaws in that approach, but it seemed instinctually necessary now. Using a projection of attitude and harshness was a fine cover for those who don't peer closer. Oh, but she would not be deterred.

Stepping close, Nat took his hand. "Trust me?"

Connor considered his answer and she thought perhaps she'd annoyed him for the final time today. But he held her gaze a moment before whispering ever so softly. "Yes."

"Then come to bed." She didn't care how it sounded; it was what they both needed.

Any argument died as she slipped her arm into his and walked through the dusty hall to the private back rooms. A cot was all each space contained, but where there was a door, there was privacy. She'd used one of these thin mattressed beds on several occasions since she'd arrived. If she was this tired, Stephen was surely more so. And this was undoubtedly the longest stretch he'd even endured without coffee. Laying a hand to his shoulder, Nat pushed him back into the lone pillow, then unwound her hair from its frayed bun. Stephen reached back and pulled the pillow enough that it could be shared, but as she stretched herself onto the mattress, her head descended onto the well-muscled chest she'd rested on in Chicago. Only this time, she didn't need to coax Connor's arm around her as he pulled her to him loosely and she smiled in victory. And then she felt it. Stephen pressed a subtle kiss to the crown of her head and the sigh that escaped her said everything. The unexpected contact bolstered her courage. Sliding her arm around his neck and a leg between his, Natalie waited until he'd fallen asleep before daring to contemplate the day.

He'd been held by rebels, buried under rubble, torn down a wall searching for Miles, committed theft, gotten shot at, and then there were the patients. If the man couldn't find a way to sleep for more than 10 minutes, there was no hope for him. Wouldn't this make any mortal too tired to dream? But even as the notion formed into possibility, minute 9 brought restlessness. The tossing and turning began slowly, his muscles tightening around her as his breathing hitched every so often. Her ear was in prime location to catch the random pattern of the interrupted breathing sequence. The dreams had started and Natalie reluctantly shook him lightly, keeping her promise to wake him.

Stephen's eyes opened slowly, his vision coming into focus gradually. Natalie had a split second to worry whether he'd remember that she was there or worse, regret that she wasn't Lisa. But when he turned his gaze to her, his half-smile erased her doubt.

"Hey," he whispered, still on the border between sleep and awareness.

She returned the smile. "It's not time yet. Go back to sleep."

Eyes drifted closed without argument, and Natalie's smile only grew. He actually conceded to something without a fight. Where were the trumpets of glory at this miracle? Laying her head back down on his chest, she listened to the reassurance of his heartbeat. She'd wanted to ask him about his dream, but knowing he'd give her a curt answer and possible leave wasn't worth the knowledge. Again, the feeling of complete belonging encircled her. It had something to do with the tightening of his arms around her. Before this trip, she'd have never believed that she, Natalie Durant, be lying here with Stephen Connor, closer than she'd ever been to him. Yet there was more than mere physical proximity involved. He'd accepted her comfort, her presence and dare she say, trusted her more than before they left US soil. With the peace these thoughts heralded, she closed her eyes, moving ever nearer to him and fell into her own dreams.

_They were standing on an empty beach, the cold weather uninviting to most. The setting sun turned his white hair to a dark blond and his eyes to sapphire. Her bare arms glowed a light bronze, but they were not around him as they longed to be. He kept his distance as he spoke to her, eyes on the sky. The words could not be heard, but they were clear to her dream self. She brushed tears away repeatedly but said nothing. The tensing of his jaw and shoulders detailed the volumes of pain he was retelling. Without the benefit of hearing the words, she found she knew the subject. The contents of his dreams. Horrors of the past. The war. In the end, she threw herself into his arms and he held onto her as one would a lifeline. There were whispers of love, though these were hidden by the ocean's song from other ears. When they departed together, they were more whole then when they'd arrived._

Natalie woke with a start as she felt Stephen stir beneath her. Lifting her head from his chest, she recognized the pain etched in his features. A mirror of her dream. Instinctually, her hand rose to his face and expectantly, he turned away. Undeterred, Nat ran her fingers along his jaw, moving up to stroke his hair. He tried to evade her touch, as though her fingers were branding irons on his skin. Hands clenched and an unfamiliar fear pooled inside her. She could never defend herself against his strength, should he not realize who was here. As he shifted violently, she cursed the demons that assailed his mind so fiercely. Quickly trying to decipher the signals he showed in his movements, she surmised that something was holding him down, though he fought against it. How exactly do you banish something in someone else's mind?

"Stephen? I need you to wake up. Do that for me?" Her tone was intended to soothe him out of the nightmare. But it only served to increase his restlessness. All she could do was try again. "Come back to me. There's nothing here but me and you." Again, his agitation intensified.

By his reaction, she began to believe that when her words were spun into an entirely different meaning in his hearing. The place he was forced into in his dreams must have been unbearable. His words in Chicago, the ones she often replayed in her head, rose to present the impetus. '_I don't sleep well. Haven't since the Gulf War. I'm lost._'

Armed with this understanding, Natalie drew herself to her knees beside him. Her voice took on the demanding tenor of every drill sergeant she'd ever seen. "Connor! Snap out of it soldier."

The command broke the grip of his dreams and he flew up in bed and into her waiting arms. Strong hands clutched at her hips as he fought for breath. She'd nearly been knocked over by his sudden change of position and she thanked God for decent reflexes.

"I've got you." She repeated the mantra softly until the tremor in his body calmed.

She felt him shake his head, trying to clear the darkness from his mind. Natalie pulled back slightly and was torn by the sight of this confident, fearless man so vulnerable. Where others saw only cockiness and arrogance, she now witnessed a near-broken spirit fighting for peace. But he would never break, she told herself. Never. Her lips moved of their own accord, brushing against his temple, trailing down his face while consequences were thoroughly damned. To her surprise, Stephen didn't stop her, his arms leaving her hips and circling her waist. Only when her tender kisses reached his lips did he tense, slowly releasing her.

"Don't." His whispered carried a hint of pleading.

"Want you," she explained simply, strangely unconcerned by her directness. Drowning in this craving, her lips made its demands of him, but he held her aloft.

"We can't," his protest offset by the husky tone his need lent his voice.

Natalie was not to be daunted, hearing plainly his desire and thrilling at the sudden turn of events. "Let me," came her seductive request. "Let me in. Let us have this."

Bold words boiled from her heated blood. This time she would not allow him to deny her. Tilting her face up, she kissed him with all the hunger she'd hidden from them both. When he abandoned his dissent and responded with equal passion, her world transformed from hazy to clear. Was there even oxygen in this room any more? Because she no longer felt the need to breathe. And it was possible her heart had stopped. But it was as though this new connection took care of such mundane things as breath, blood and heart functions without her knowledge. As long as they continued this dance, nothing else would be required to live.

Tongues that spilled arguments and comfort now battled for dominance. With all her might, she pushed him down and laid her body over his. The level of intimacy set her aflame and she expected a return on this investment. Using her newly welcomed touch to convey this to him was as much a privilege as she'd ever experienced. And he delivered, as if she'd ever doubted he could. The kiss grew from hot and desperate to deep and probing, fueled by the emotions they'd refused to admit. His hands had set out to travel her when the door began to take a pounding. They both turned sharply like discovered lovers. Which wasn't far off.

"Truck leave soon, doc." A halted Spanish voice informed them.

"Yeah." Stephen acknowledged before untangling himself from her and leaving the bed without a word.

Heedless of where her heart now lay, trampled on the floor, Connor picked up his cell phone to attempt a call, a sporadic luxury in Colima. He shook his head in frustration at a lack of signal. Natalie watched him closely, unsure how he would react to her advances once he had a moment to clear his head. Reminding him that he did, in fact, kiss her back was an admittedly anorexic defense. When Connor turned his attention to her, stern features in place, Natalie steadied herself for the explosion. Instead, his expression softened as he knelt beside the bed. He remained silent; unable to speak the million thoughts she knew were there, so she released her held breath and spoke for him.

"It was inappropriate. I took advantage. You'll let me down easy, then reassign me." She'd have looked down in shame had she not caught something in his eyes she didn't recognize. Could it be some form of affection?

"Is that right?" Stephen covered her hand with his, a gesture neither romantic nor innocent. Surprisingly, he never broke from her gaze. God, how she wished he'd say more. One way or the other.

She squeezed his hand. "I knew what it could cost us, but I can't regret trying." Us. Had she destroyed any chance of that?

Another knock broke through the solitary world they'd existed in tonight. "I have to go." His eyes begged for understanding and she gave it to him.

Her hand rose to splay behind his neck, holding him there. "I know. But believe this isn't over. I won't pretend it didn't happen and you can't pretend you didn't enjoy it." He had the good grace to look both contrite and just a bit amused. "We'll need to talk when you get back. So make sure you come back."

All too well Natalie knew the danger he was placing himself in by going north. Connor allowed the slightest nod before rising to leave, not looking back. With an unladylike flop, Natalie lay back on the bed they'd shared, her lips still feeling the pressure of his. An ounce of terror rose at the possibility that this might have been their last…anything. She could only pray Stephen knew her heart went with him.

A half hour passed in the company of her thoughts. Recalling every detail of her dream, then dissected each millisecond of their astonishing kiss. It was indulgent, to be sure, this backtrack to high school, replaying a kiss like it was her first. But there were much more adult considerations to be made.

Would they ever be as complete in this life as they were on that fantasy beach? Trust, at a currently unattained level, would be the only foundation that could make that happen. Certainly she couldn't stand by and allow him to force a return to their previous comfort zone, not now that she knew how good it felt to touch him and be touched by him? And it was only kiss, one that rocked her foundation. Could she even handle more than that without imploding? In the heat of that moment, she knew he wanted her. There was so much more to explore with him. But Connor had to come back to her first.

The little inner voice of doom spoke of his imminent rejection, of the distance he would create, of the chance he would be killed out there. Failing to shut the voice up by command, she rose, dressed and swung the door open. The form coming down the hall towards her brought a smile to Natalie's face, as well as concern. She'd have some explaining to do, which translated into lies, since Natalie respected Stephen's incessant need for privacy too much to divulge the events in that room. Oh, her kingdom for a better poker face.

"Natalie!" Eva broke out into a jog to reach her, carrying a smile a thousand watts bright. Her present attire, worn and dusty, was a far cry from the designers Eva normally wrapped her tiny frame into. It was a nice change.

Returning the happiness, despite the still-dark morning hour, came easy with such a greeting. "Hey, Eva. How are things up there?"

"Improvements abound. Miles is talking. Shutting him up? Different matter."

The relieved breath was shared by both women. "He certainly has enough to talk about."

A blush crept up on the younger woman. "He's, ah, asking for Dr. Connor. I had to tell him about the boys to explain why he's not here this morning."

"And what else did you tell him?" Suspicion hung in the air and Natalie prepared her cover story quickly.

"What?" Eva defended with utmost innocence. "I reminded him that Connor could take care of himself, ex-military and all. Guess Miles was worried about him going out there alone."

Natalie's mouth dropped open while her heart stopped. "Alone? Frank…Frank went too, right?"

"Stephen said to let him sleep. He told me he'd be back soon and that was it." Eva's face displayed her confusion. "Didn't you two talk about this?"

Shaking her head, Natalie couldn't get her mouth to speak about the many things they needed to talk about. Where could she possibly start? Eva put her hand on Nat's shoulder, studying her with far more interest than Nat could grasp. Eva should know she'd be worried about him professionally, of course. Nothing more.

"Look, Nat… I, um, heard you and Powell yesterday..." Eva let the sentence drop; admitting to eavesdropping required little else, save an apology.

Shrugging off her hand, Natalie leaned against the door. Betrayals of any sort had always been her greatest friendship breaker. "That wasn't meant for you to hear." She knew there was toxin in her tone, but it couldn't be avoided.

Eva looked apologetic, but also a touch offended. "You were upset. I just wanted to know why so I could help."

"Help?" Natalie snapped, taking on a tone eerily Connor-esque. "No one can help when he's out there." Her arm tossed a gesture to the dangerous world they were currently hiding from.

Eva took a step closer, eyes downcast in supplication. "Did you tell him?"

Unable to answer for a moment, Natalie rubbed at her eyes, feeling the weight of partial discovery and fully aware how furious Stephen would be at any part of this discussion. Damage control fought to reign, but the idea of someone on her side didn't let it win completely. Opening the door to the small room, Natalie walked inside, indicating that Eva should do the same. The PR specialist shut the door behind her, watching as Natalie sank onto the bed, hanging her head. Why the hell not?

"No, I didn't tell him. But I think I probably showed him." She had to stifle a laugh at the shocked look on Eva's face. "Not like that. Well, not entirely."

Shyness wasn't in Eva's nature so she flexed her Press Op muscle. A quick glance around the room and her eyes fell onto the mattress beneath her friend. "Did you both sleep in this bed?"

"Yup."

"Was there… sleeping?"

Nat nearly giggled at the question. "There was."

"Was there…" Eva's hand made an almost comical circular gesture in the air. "Kissing?"

"Maybe," Nat's grin made an appearance. There certainly was, she crowed internally with feminine pride.

"Was there…" There was that waving motion again. "More?"

Nat sighed with a roll of her eyes. "With the pounding on the door by some guy with a truck? No."

Sitting down beside her, Eva took in the disappointment Nat knew was plain on her face. "So, what happens now?"

"Now? Now he'll insist nothing happened. Keep me at a greater distance. Fight me every step of the way." Possibly fire her for sexual harassment. Never mind the childish reminder that he enjoyed it.

"And if he doesn't?" Eva asked optimistically.

"He will. I know he will." A sheen of liquid formed in her eyes and she cursed its existence. She would not cry. "You don't understand him." A bitter laugh followed. "Of course, neither do I. He won't let me. That would be trust. He doesn't do trust."

Eva rose, standing directly before her with hands on hips. "My advice? Don't push him. Don't press for answers. Don't look for big steps. You'll only drive him further away. Stubborn as a cinderblock pile in a tornado, the boss is."

An unusual analogy, but theoretically correct. "So I do what exactly, Dr. Rossi, personal shrink?"

"It was the best $19.95 I ever spent for an internet degree." Eva bowed a bit in self-congratulation, then settled back into earnestness. "Just be there, wait him out until the opportunity comes to make another move. He'll be worth it, I guarantee that."

Wiping stray moisture from her cheeks, Natalie stood. Her smile spoke gratitude for the ear and forgiveness for the eavesdropping. "Are you sure you're not after him?"

Eva laughed. "Girl, I recognize _'the package'_ when I see it. Gorgeous, brilliant and that attitude? There's just something hot about a take-charge man." She fanned her face with a hand dramatically while simultaneously steering Natalie to the door. "Plus, who couldn't fall for those eyes? And being _'the package,'_ he naturally has no interest in poor Dr. Rossi. You, on the other hand…"


	4. Chapter 4

Just a little continuance of our intrepid team's fun-filled all expenses paid vacation in Colima. I'm still holding out that Connor will bring me back a souvenir. Thank you for sticking with me, faithful readers!

**The Virtue of Catnaps (Part 4)**

As the day was spent administering to patients, Natalie's mind was preoccupied with their missing team leader; fearing for his safety, desperate for his return and anxious about their future. He was her boss and the NIH would never tolerate a relationship within a team. Then there was Lisa Connor, who she knew he still loved. And Jack. Trying to imagine herself as the boy's stepmother failed. Besides, she told herself, she had no business thinking that far ahead when they hadn't had 'the talk.' But envisioning the scenarios kept her hopes alive that he would come back to her unharmed. Hope was needed more and more as the hours passed. Every truck engine made her run to the window. Every disappointment of seeing someone else crushed her further. Where was he?

By nightfall, her panic was tangible. Apparently it was hidden from no one. Powell tried to avoid confrontation, Eva tried to provide comfort and Miles was completely lost to it all. Or so she thought. At 9:20 pm, she walked to his bedside with what passed for dinner in Colima; some sort of foliage and broth. The doctor looked barely a teenager, thin and pale against the bedsheet, but the concern in his eyes belayed his youth.

"Nothing yet?" He asked quietly.

Nat shook her head, refusing to allow her traitorous eyes to form tears. Again. They helped no one. "He'll be fine. Probably tending to the entire north village single-handedly." The false smile was foolish, she knew, but she was resolute to try. Faking optimism was becoming a specialty today.

"He can take care of himself, Nat. I mean, no offense, but most of these people are twigs. They couldn't take the boss in a fight. Ever seen those biceps? I have nightmares about those biceps."

This time her smile was genuine. Yes, she wanted to say, seen up close…and felt them too. Setting his tray down beside him, Natalie laid a hand on his comparatively skinny arm. The kid was trying and his confidence aided hers to a point, except that the tingle in her spine kept feeding the dark ideas.

"Thanks, Miles." Could they conclude this portion of the pep talk, please? His puppy dog eyes were attempting to make her confess things well before their time.

"But?" Eyebrows raised in expectation.

The sigh escaped without permission. "He's unarmed and facing a man he made a promise to. It's not like he took those boys with him. They're gone. And…" Oh, what the hell? "And I'm scared."

Miles covered her hand with his; the lack of fire under his skin confirming the fever had broken. "So am I," he confessed with a sigh of his own. "But there's no one else that can do what he does. He'll argue his way out of anything. He'll heal the masses up there. And he'll come back, 'cuz there's still too much I haven't learned yet. And there's a lot of yelling left for him to do."

"I just, he…" she faltered, not wanting to show how much of her heart the man had. "He shouldn't have been gone this long."

Again Miles smiled. "They're delaying him, 'cuz they've never seen an albino before."

From somewhere below the fear, a laugh lurched out of her throat. Rather without dignity, actually. "You've been talking to Frank again, haven't you?" She accused with a grin.

"Not my fault the man's abnormally fair." Frank's voice boomed behind her. "Hey Miles. Can I borrow her for a second?"

Miles nodded, still amused by the last exchange and Natalie reluctantly followed Powell. He took her out of the building and, she observed, far from earshot.

"What's going on?" Her stomach fell to her knees at the possibilities.

"I just want to know what the deal is with you two." At her blank stare, he shook his head in irritation. "You don't think I know where you both were last night? It's Chicago all over again. Catnaps, my ass."

"So what was Chicago, according to you?" Anger rose in her tone and she didn't bother to hide it. The timing of this questioning brought out everything she'd ever been furious about. In her life. Ever.

Frank turned a full circle, hands in the air as if praying for wisdom. "The ink on his divorce was barely dry then and you're…" The words escaped him, but she had plenty of her own.

"You didn't seem to have a problem with it before." Her volume negated the point of being out of earshot.

"It was one night. And it didn't seem to go beyond a nap. But now… Don't do this to him."

It took all of her reserve not to smack him. Hard. "At least I know now what you think of me. What a schemer I must be to you. Never mind how I feel about him. Never mind that just yesterday _you_ accused me of giving up on him. And never mind that it's none of your damn business." She began to walk away but remembered one factor in her present anger. "And you should have gone with him."

It stung, but he seemed determined to remain in the right. "What was I supposed to do?" He yelled in self-defense. "He didn't give me the chance."

"And now you want to take mine."

Storming away before her tongue took flight, Natalie hurried back to the safety of the hospital walls. The breakdown kindly waited until she reached the room they'd shared. The door slammed firmly in place, she collapsed on the bed as descending moisture were given free reign. Choked sobs accompanied every fear in her mind. The northern leader would demand vengeance for the loss of his sons. Her imagination considered every form revenge could take and all she saw was death. Missing the opening of the door, Natalie couldn't miss the arms circling her. Her nostrils caught the scent of Eva's lotion and she sat up to take shelter in her friend's arms. Eva rocked her gently and began whispering to her.

"He's alright, Nat. I just know it. How could he not come back knowing you were waiting for him?"

"Should've told him," Nat's sob thickened voice lamented. "Should've said… he still doesn't know."

Eva smoothed Natalie's hair like a comforting mother. "He has to know. You showed him, right. Stephen's a brilliant man. He could have felt it when you kissed him. And he returned it, didn't he?"

Nodding, Natalie remembered the feel of his lips on hers and surrendered to the pull of that moment. Vivid images of his arms around her made her feel them now. The taste of him filled her mouth. Breathing deep, Nat allowed this to calm her as she moved away from Eva to wipe away her stilling tears.

"I had his attention, Eva. Me. Everything else just… evaporated. It's been 28 hours. If I lose him…"

"You won't. I promise." The declaration came complete with shoulder patting and doe eyes. But lacked any assurance whatsoever.

Violently shaking her head, Natalie scolded, "No. It's a promise that drove him to go back out there. No more promises, okay?"

Remaining on the thin mattress long after Eva departed, Natalie tried to sleep and failed. How could she manage it without his body beneath hers? His arms, his heartbeat and even his nightmares being in absentia made closing her eyes impossible. She knew all too well what she was missing. The patients within these walls were sufficiently staffed and Nat settled for counting the hours, refusing now to allow her imaginings to take root. He was fine. There were ill villagers there who'd lacked the full supply of medications Stephen and Powell had stolen. He'd taken more with him, as well as food and was likely tied up administering both. The leader would have to understand that his boys being taken was out of Stephen's control. Of course, Stephen didn't have to tell him. Damn him for being so honorable.

Barely registering the rising of the sun, Natalie eventually rose stiffly from the mattress, intending to head back to the main floor to check on the recovering patients. While forcing her unwashed hair into a rather lopsided braid, Frank barreled through the door, startling her out of her reverie.

"He's here."

With those words, Nat's heart jumped back to life. Racing down the corridor, she didn't stop until she reached the triage hall. A quick scan filled her vision with the dark haired populace and her heart squeezed painfully. Frank caught up to her, took her arm and led her to an unused kitchen. Stephen was perched on a counter, covered in blood. A gasp sucked past her lips as she rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck. Standing between his legs, she clung to him for dear life.

An arm closed around her waist and she heard him whisper, "Miss me?"

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving them the freedom of privacy, "Tell me you're okay." She pleaded in a voice both blatant and shaky.

When he remained silent, she remembered the blood and pulled away quickly. In her elation, she hadn't actually scrutinized him and now found a terrible gash at his left temple.

"Oh God. What happened? Are you…" She stroked a hand down the fabric of his t-shirt, which had left her palm red-coated and slick.

"It's not mine." Connor tried to assure her, which was useless considering the hoarseness of his voice. She noticed the tremor in the arm currently at her hip and then registered that two arms weren't holding her. Turning her attention to his left side, she discovered a stream of blood originating at his shoulder, painting a river down his black shirt.

"The table. Now." Doctor Durant took over her personality and he apparently thought better of arguing. Sliding off the counter slowly, he moved to the old kitchen table and sat in the chair she'd pulled out. "Tell me," was her simple command.

"We got the boys back," he announced but did not elaborate.

"At what cost," she inquired while gathering supplies from the bin Powell must have placed on the table.

"I'm fine, Nat."

Snapping her head up from the makeshift medical kit, Natalie nearly threw down the items in her hands. "You say that a lot, Stephen. And it's rarely true. You think I didn't see how dizzy you got coming off that counter?" Grabbing gauze from the container, Natalie returned to him. "You're losing blood, so I expect you to fill me in on the why of it." Forgetting to be angry for just a millisecond, Nat leaned in and caressed his cheek gently. "And yes, I missed you."

Tugging his sleeve up, she looked first at the bleeding wound. There was no question of the cause… a bullet. Her breathing increased as she bundled a handful of gauze to soak up the excess blood.

"How long ago?" She asked quietly.

"Few hours. It went through clean."

She spared him a glance. "And this should make me feel better? Why didn't you wrap this?"

"I was a little busy." He groaned when she came too close to the opening, which hadn't begun to heal at all.

"The boys?" She supplied as she reached for the antiseptic and applied it to the immediate area.

He nodded, closing his eyes briefly at the pain her ministrations were causing. "Made a promise."

"Any other wounds I should know about?" The needle was threaded and she made quick work of the stitches for the entry side. At least she assumed it was the opening.

"No." He was reduced to a whisper and he leaned back in the chair. The loss of blood was taking its toll and Natalie quickened her pace to verify his statement, which sounded an awful lot like a lie. She cleaned the injury at his temple, presuming something had struck him with considerable power. Taking his hands, torn and bloody knuckles told her he'd been in quite a fight. He winced when she ran her thumbs across the scarred skin.

"I should see the other guy, right?" Natalie joked, but could see unconsciousness trying to overtake him.

"Something like that." His slightly slurred speech confirmed her suspicions. He closed his eyes and Natalie laid a hand under his chin, drawing his focus back to her.

"Stay awake for me, okay? I need to know any potential problems."

Stephen took a deep breath, refocusing his gaze somewhere that wasn't her face. "There was... an explosion. The force… threw me. Ribs are sore. Forgot how much…I hated grenades."

"Grenades?" He nodded his reply. "Ears ringing?"

Again, he merely nodded. Natalie moved behind him, extending the rip in the material at the exit wound in his shoulder, gently probing and cleaning the area. Stitching fast but accurately, she could tell his strength was gone. He could barely retain his focus on her words as she filled him in on Miles and the other patients. Standing, she opened the door and called out for Frank. As expected, he hadn't gone far.

"Hey boss," he greeted Stephen as he poked his head in. "What'cha need?"

"Bring a cot in for me? He's not going anywhere." Natalie's tone refuted disagreement from either man and Frank dutifully headed to triage. She turned back to Stephen and found displeasure in his features. "Don't argue with me. You'll sleep or I'll sedate you. Your choice." The finger tht she pointed at him was shaking.

Barely a breath later, Frank returned with a large mattress on wheels. Moving it to an empty corner and locking up the wheels, Frank stood before Natalie, expression set into a scowl.

"Found a good one, huh? Plenty of… room." When he winked, Nat smiled her thanks. Despite his fight with her earlier, he was apparently now prepared to grant his approval. Natalie felt a bit like a high schooler seeking dad's permission to date the popular jock with the bad reputation. Something told her the analogy was all too close to truth.

Loud and pathetically staged, Frank announced, "I leave this mess in your hands. Take care of him, okay. God knows he's the worst damned patient you could get."

"You should talk." Stephen tried for scolding with a voice lacking sufficient force.

Frank put up his hands, backing up to the doorway. "Hey, that time doesn't count."

Having no earthly idea to what the two old friends were referring, Natalie simply stepped forward to lay a hand on Frank's arm before he left. "Thanks."

He lowered his voice, leaning in to her ear. "He doesn't sound good."

"He'll be alright. I'll make sure of it." Closing the door, Nat walked to Stephen's side and held out a hand. "I'll be your escort this evening, doctor. If you'll just come with me"

Reluctantly, he accepted her hand and let her guide him up. Not at all surprised that he masked the pain motion caused him, they arrived at the bed, where a clean shirt waited, as well as more supplies.

"Black," she commented. "How unusual."

His momentary grin faded as he pulled off his torn t-shirt. She would have helped, except that it would have obstructed her view of his six-pack. When did the man find time to work out? All too soon, the replacement was made and she turned away, forcing her blush down and praying he was too tired to notice. Busying herself storing items to their respective slots in the container, Natalie finally turned her gaze back to him. Stephen had stretched out on the bed, not requiring any argument to assume the desired position. His right arm was thrown across his eyes, his breathing visibly labored. There were still things she needed to do, but hated disturbing him. She should have wrapped his shoulder and checked his ribs when he changed his shirt. Stupid hormones, she reprimanded herself as she collected fresh gauze and cloth wrap. Switching off one of the florescent lights, Natalie walked to his side.

"I need you to sit up for a minute." She said apologetically.

"I waive my right… to treatment." He muttered, but complied with her request.

"You wish," she quipped, then reached under his shirt to probe his ribs. Contact with his skin told her two things; one, she could touch him forever and not get over the electricity she felt, and two, fever had set in. The light touches were painful enough to make him bite his lower lip. Pulling her hand away, she tugged up his shirt and began the work of wrapping the clearly broken ribs as tenderly as possible.

Half way through, she asked, "how's that feel?"

"Not tight enough," the physician directed.

She looked at him quizzically. "You really want me to tighten this?"

"No." The admission was a far cry from the tough guy façade he normally wore.

Unrolling a length of gauze, Nat moved to his shoulder and checked his stitches. Fresh blood was slowly trickling out of her handiwork and she cursed under her breath. A look at the exit wound showed the same result. She'd have to redo them, which would bring him more pain. Before breaking this news, Natalie studied her patient for a moment, attempting to remain objective. Detachment was his forte and one that failed to rub off on her. He was fading fast; the broken ribs, loss of blood and the impact from the explosion conspired against him. Consciousness was a losing battle.

"Stephen?" She called quietly when his eyes had drifted closed. Wincing, he turned to her, eyes too unfocused for her liking. "I'm sorry. I have to fix the stitches."

He released a shaky breath, giving neither permission nor reprimand. But he knew it needed to be done. Disappointed in her own skill, she grabbed the supplies quickly and got to work. To keep him awake, Nat strove for another attempt at disconnection by asking routine questions.

"Headache?" A nod the only response she got.

"Still dizzy?" He closed his eyes, as if the mere word intensified the symptom. "Ears still ringing?"

With each previous question, the response took longer. Now she got nothing. "Stephen, can you hear me okay?"

As though realizing she'd asked something, Connor angled his head a bit. Natalie understood this gesture and directed her voice closer to his ear but reduced the volume to test.

"Can you hear me?"

Taking a deep breath, he winced at the protest by his ribs. "Yeah."

Wrapping the gauze over the bullet wounds, she carefully pulled his sleeve down and impulsively raised a hand to his face. The rising heat in her own skin by the contact matched his, only for a different reason.

"I'm done. Lie down for me?"

No convincing was needed as he sank back into the bed. At least the mattress was an improvement on the one in 'their room,' as Eva had taken to calling it. Taking hold of her mini lamp, she shined the beam in his eyes, checking for telltale dilation. Finding that, Nat couldn't help memorizing his startling baby blues up close. They truly were extraordinary. But bothered by the light. She rushed to turn off the last overhead light, then returned to the bed.

"Stephen, let me hook up an I.V.?"

"No." His reply, barely a whisper, carried his earnest disapproval as clearly as if he had shouted.

"You need medicine to ward off infection, keep your fever manageable, a pain killer and maybe…" she hesitated, "something to help you sleep." She knew he'd take that last suggestion badly, but she was willing to do it without his consent.

Shaking his head, he leveled a more focused gaze to her. "No sedation." His voice firm in the demand.

"You're on the wrong side of the stethoscope to give orders." She reminded him.

"No." Connor began to rise from the bed and she quickly laid a hand on his chest, stopping him from leaving.

"Okay," she conceded once he'd settled down. "But tell me why."

Tearing his gaze from her, he closed his eyes, any remaining strength taken from him in the attempted departure. "Can't get out." The simple statement was spoken as though she should understand. Which she didn't.

"I don't follow you."

The mere thought of explaining seemed to irritate him. "Can't… wake up."

"From the dreams?" He nodded, expression almost grateful that she'd realized what he meant. He couldn't wake himself from the nightmares if he was under sedation. "Okay, no sedatives. But you need a pain killer and antibiotics."

"'kay." Unable to fight sleep any further, Stephen drifted into unconsciousness and Natalie waited a few minutes before stealing away. That time was spent in a decision making process that was tainted by the recent turn of events. How could one kiss screw everything up so completely that every decision was weighed against whether or not they could do that again? Heading to the main ward, Natalie steered her path toward Powell and Eva, who were hovering over a talkative Miles. Knocking on the door jam, three sets of eyes trained on her.

"How is he?" Miles jumped in first. "Can we see him?"

"I'll let you know in a few hours. As you probably know, he and the northern leader's army stormed the barracks and sprung the boys." The gathering's collective smiles grew and then quickly fell as she continued. "He has a bullet wound to the shoulder, a few broken ribs and a nice little head wound."

Frank broke in for the benefit of Eva and Miles. "There were multiple grenade explosions, I heard. Maybe even small missiles. Damn." Only a former military man could sound disappointed at having missed such things. But Powell looked rather forlorn.

Natalie shook her head. "Wouldn't surprise me. I'm about to give him an I.V. of morphine and antibiotics."

"Fever set in?" Miles asked. Natalie nodded and his expression turned to awe. "And he agreed to an I.V.?"

Frank laughed, "Mr. Uncooperative? How the hell'd you manage that?"

Natalie squared her shoulders. "I didn't give him a choice." She spun on her heel, intending on a little raid mission of her own. And her abrupt departure was accompanied by the chuckles of entirely amused co-workers.


	5. Chapter 5

My dear readers, can you handle another installment? I pray so, because it has fought its way onto your screen!

Dedicated to Dr Who 4 U and MILover92. I would have stopped at the first chapter had it not been for you!

**The Virtue of Catnaps (Part 5)**

20 minutes later, an armload of fresh dressings and two I.V. bags was walked into the kitchen. A quick glance to her patient caught her off-guard. Stephen was still awake, if barely, and desperately fighting sleep. It took him a full minute to notice her after she'd put her load down. Counting her blessings that a pole was waiting in the corner, she dragged it over to the bed. Decision time, she knew and the courage in her veins seemed to dry up. Was she right to deceive him? If discovered, would she lose whatever trust he had in her.

"Hey." She greeted and his almost imperceptible half-smile verified the severity of his condition. Careful of the laceration on his temple, she laid a hand on his forehead and nearly jerked it away when her skin met the fire of his. He closed his eyes at the contact and struggled to reopen them. Fever sent up licks of fire to his skin and his breathing faltered beneath battered ribs. Naturally, the lone x-ray machine had been found smashed, so she couldn't even attempt to assess the internal damage. Moving her hand to his cheek, Nat called to him softly.

"Stephen, I'm gonna hook up the I.V., okay?" She had nearly decided on one bag when he shook his head.

"Don't want it." He had to force the words to be heard.

Natalie leaned back, feeling the weight of her other choice growing. "We've been through this. Patients don't dictate treatment, Connor."

He was in no position to refuse her and the dizzying mix of pain, exhaustion and fever kept him from protesting further. Natalie worked silently, trying to justify internally why she was picking the second bag instead. He'd never break the fever or endure the pain without the medication. Both bags contained equal shares of needed remedy. But in the second one alone she had mixed another medicine that would make him sleep. Despite his clear abhorrence for sedatives, she knew no other way he'd be able to rest. And the fact that he was still awake without anything in his system was the final vote for the additional aid. Having inserted the needle, adjusted the bag and pulled up a chair, Natalie sat by him as he struggled against the effects of her formula.

Running a hand over his hair, Nat tried to still the battle. "Don't fight it. There won't be any dreams tonight. And I'll be right here." No nightmares, she prayed, would be the benefit of the extra dose of medicine. There was nothing he needed more.

Taking his hand, she watched as either her words or the power of the I.V. fluid defeated him. 10 minutes later, Nat felt confident enough to leave his side, though it would only be temporary. She scribbled a note and posted it on the outside of the door, keeping them from being disturbed. Locking the door and kicking off her shoes, she grabbed a blanket from among the items she brought. Another shared catnap was in order. Carefully, she crawled onto the mattress, passed her body across his and settled to his right, her bottom pressed against the wall. The blanket was draped over them lightly, the cool of the afternoon beginning to emerge. Careful to avoid his ribs, Nat laid her head against his right shoulder. No other contact was possible, given his condition. Everything was in order, at least as much as she could manage the feat. His cell phone was on the other side of the building, the world was safely tucked beyond the locked door and the sleeping aid gave her hope of a restful night.

When she opened her eyes again, it registered that some time had passed since her last waking thought. Twilight had lent the room an ethereal quality. The sole window and its million cracks splayed a broken glow onto the opposing walls in eerie patterns. And despite her best efforts, Stephen was a touch restless. Nat leaned on an elbow, taking in the unearthly beauty of the man, washed in the pale moonlight. He stole her breath away. Her appreciative eye turned to concern. If he shifted as violently as she'd witnessed before, he'd undo the good of the medication and tear his stitches. And there was only so much movement his ribs could take. Afraid to shake him, Natalie had to rely on other means to reach through the morphine-induced haze.

Her fingers pressed to his forehead and found the fever had somehow grown stronger. Frowning, she psychically scolded the medicine for failing. Stephen recoiled from her touch and a pang of hurt flashed through her. Conceding that the visions could be worse under the influence of such a high temperature, she considered that he might have known this. Had he been put under in the past and struggled with it? The I.V. bag was barely a quarter used. He didn't have enough of the solution in him to banish the symptoms. Give it time, she told her impatience side as she began calling to him. Opening his eyes briefly, he quickly closed them against the moonlight.

"What did you dream about?" Nat wondered aloud, knowing he wasn't awake enough to hear her.

"Chains," he whispered and Nat was shocked into sitting up straight

"Where were you?" She asked tentatively.

"Can't get out." His breathing grew more shallow and his face contorted in pain. Was he referencing the inability to wake or was there something else? "No more." The words were almost missed, had she not been straining to hear him. But the tone was almost… tortured. And not directed to her.

"Tell me what you see?" Using her most soothing voice, she tried to pry her way into his mind. "Stephen?" She called one last time, but the medicine coursing through him chose now to prove its merit.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she acknowledged the danger in what she'd done. She'd forced him to sleep against his wishes. He'd been so insistent, no sedation. And she'd betrayed his trust. Rising carefully, she wandered to the table, muttering silently a private chastisement. So far they'd come just within the confines of this trip. A simple decision, however well intended, may have set them back irreparably.

A neck ache was her reward for sleeping at the kitchen table. Amazingly, this was the longest Stephen had slept since she began keeping score in Chicago. Of course, this had been the point of the I.V.. Slowly, she stood and worked the kinks out of her spine. When her eyes finally dared to seek the bed, she found it empty. The I.V. tube hung over the pole, looking limp in its abandonment. Rushing to the mattress, Natalie ran her hand across the pillow as though sight alone was insufficient. And she cursed his stubbornness. Connor was in no condition to…

Trying to force darkly predictive thoughts away, Nat turned to the dingy mirror and straightened her clothes. But in the midst of fixing her hair, the hot sting of tears surfaces. Long hair tumbled down as she covered her face with her hands. Because her brain replayed their talk in Chicago once again, hearing the words and still failing to understand his reluctance to answer her.

"_What do you see?"_

"_Things I don't want to remember."_

"_What happened?"_

"_Don't ask me that."_

Hadn't he told her not to ask? But Natalie's curiosity would not be put down. Connor had been just as evasive last night without actually trying. The key to the man was in his dreams, but he'd never trust her enough to detail them. And certainly not if he knew what she'd done. Still, she'd been compelled to keep trying to break that barrier. Her fierce loyalty had prompted her deception, both the sedation and the probing of his unconscious mind. This time it was the 'No more' comment that had her gripped. No more what? Chains? Blocking out the questions these words raised, Nat returned her focus to the problem at hand.

And with that renewed attention, fear began a slow climb in her blood. Connor was a gifted physician. He'd know she lied, would feel the lingering effects of the tranquilizer. How had she not thought of this? He was supposed to stay in bed until the medication wore off and the intensity of the pain subsided. Where was he? A check of her watch showed it was barely 7 am. Rubbing her face with her sleeves, the tear tracks were not as visible when she left the room. To avoid attracting attention to her search, Nat affected a casual stroll through the hospital. He was hard to miss, a presence that announced itself anywhere he stood. The shock of white hair didn't hurt either. But the man had disappeared, it seemed.

In the morgue, Director Ewing, newly arrived and looking out of place with fresh crisp clothes, stated she'd been down there alone for 2 hours and then nearly took her head off for letting him out of her sight. Then she'd found Miles, who stared out the window and merely pointed to the courtyard. Natalie raced to the yard door and threw it open. One foot was one the porch when she felt something hard pressed to her temple. Freezing on instinct, a sideways glance revealed a black handgun. It lowered, but the menacing glare of its owner kept her pinned in place. Nat tore her eyes from the soldier to the yard and spotted a circle of 40 gunmen standing guard over 2 men in deep discussion. Stephen and the equally injured northern leader. They stood next to a gazebo, children herded under its roof by gunmen. Stephen gave no outward appearance of pain but she read it in his muscles. Movement to her left pulled her attention away. Frank arrived at her side, his eyes never leaving their boss.

"What the hell's going on?" She demanded.

"Rebels showed up 30 minutes ago. Leader said he wanted to talk truce in exchange for medical treatment of the men involved in his son's rescue. But he'd only speak to Stephen."

Her body shaking by this invasion, her fury was detailed in her voice. "He's in no condition to mediate a truce."

"Like I don't know that." Frank raised his hands in defense. "He refused to negotiate with the village head or the government agents. Doesn't trust them or anyone else on the planet. He shoved a gun into a child's mouth's and demanded Stephen. Said it was him or war."

She turned an accusing eye to Powell. "So you woke him, removed the I.V. and let him go out there when he shouldn't even be standing?"

"Look, I know he's hurt, but…"

"He got shot last night, Frank. He has broken ribs that I can't x-ray, the force of the blast affected his hearing…"

"As affected as he was with whatever you put in that I.V., 'cuz what he agreed to couldn't have knocked him out like that."

Her mouth refused to close as she realized she'd already been discovered. Defiantly turning to face the men's' tense discussion once more, she was eager to drop the topic. The leader was doing most of the talking and Stephen seemed unimpressed with the gun in the man's wildly gesturing hand. Though his back was to her, the doctor in Natalie appraised the signs she could see from her vantage point. He favored his left arm, holding it as still as possible, his breathing was uneven and the outline of his jaw was clenching subtly. And he was undoubtedly groggy from her morphine-sedative formula. Even still, he could verbally outmaneuver and intimidate any mere mortal. The rebel leader's face slid into the unmistakable look of defeat as he held out an arm, palm down, and made a lowering motion. Every gun trained on Stephen was holstered and Nat took her first real breath.

Walking away, the leader absently patted Stephen's left arm and it was all Stephen could do to reign in the cringe. Frank left her side and she followed close behind. Stephen leaned heavily on a pillar, eyes closed briefly. Looking up when Frank reached him, Stephen straightened, quickly masking any effects of injury.

Frank held out his arms in wonder. "He never had a chance, boss. But if you change your mind, I'll kill him for you."

A half smile graced Connor's face, but it faded as Natalie came into view. "Frank, treat them the same as the others, but be ready to referee." His voice was shaky and his brilliant blue eyes were clouded with pain.

"Sure this was a good idea?"

"We either break up small fights… or get killed in a big one." His breathing grew shallow as he sank back against the support beam.

Frank nodded, leaving them to handle the additional unspoken orders Natalie knew Stephen had given. Their years working together afforded the two men a silent communication that she'd always envied. She didn't have to wait long for the argument.

"What the hell did you give me?"

What possessed her to think she'd get away with it? "I did what any responsible doctor would," she countered.

"The one thing I asked you not to?" His fury was tangible and it choked her. Had he been at full strength, he'd have probably fried her with that glare.

"Stephen, I know what you said but…" There was no point in continuing that logic. Betrayal burned in his eyes and it killed her to know she put it there. Repetition was neither weapon nor shield, but she employed it anyway. "I did what I thought was responsible."

He sighed, the fight wearing him down. "Did I have to beg?"

The whispered plea was so foreign that her response was backwards. She'd become angry at herself for the decision and it leaked into her defense, firming her tone. "You weren't thinking clearly…"

"Nat…"

"…anymore than you are now. A bullet, broken ribs and…" She reached a hand to his forehead, "and a high fever require attention."

Connor stepped away from her touch, slamming shut whatever entry she'd had. "You keep asking me to trust you. You don't make that possible."

Nat's eyes squeezed closed against the forming tears. No, she would not let him see her cry. Not that she had to worry, she realized after a moment. He was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Just about to wrap this little number up. One more to go after this, beloved readers. P.S. if you are a Kate Ewing fan, avoid this altogether.

**The Virtue of Catnaps (Part 6)**

Natalie had spent the remainder of the day dealing with the patients the northern leader hadn't insisted Stephen alone treat. Did the rebel not know how the extent of Stephen's injuries or did this simply not concern him? Obviously it didn't concern Connor either. In a cramped hallway, these thought kept her attention from noticing Miles heading her way.

"Hey Nat," the young man called cheerfully.

She smiled at his enthusiasm. He'd been itching to leave bed and Connor had given him some patients to occupy him.

"How're you feeling?" She returned his smile easily.

"Great. Some excitement this morning, huh? Told you he could argue his way out of anything."

"Yes, you did. So, what are you doing out here?"

"I was looking for Dr. Connor. I… I never got to thank him for rescuing me." Miles chuckled. "Guess he's been doing that a lot this trip. Least mine didn't result in broken ribs." Realizing he was rambling, Miles looked positively sheepish. "Only, he might need rescuing now."

Her light mood faltered. "What do you mean?"

"One, he looks like hell. Did you get an x-ray of his ribs? I think there's more damage than he's letting on."

Scoffing, Natalie nearly dropped her charts. "Miles, I had to force morphine on him. X-ray? Imagine him as a patient and you'll have your answer. Never mind that the stupid machine's broken."

"Right. Two," he grinned, "He's alone in a room… with Director Ewing."

"Show me where," Nat ordered and a confused Miles simply stood before her. "Do you want World War 90? That's the battle those two should be on by now."

Turning on his heel, he quickly led the way. Once at the corner of a long corridor, he pointed to the right. "Far as I go." He explained. "I just got better. Don't want him killing me."

"I doubt he could manage it right now."

Throwing up his hands, Miles began to back away the way they came. "Hey, the man took a bullet last night, probably has a rib-punctured lung. Oh, and still managed to stop a bloodbath. I think he could take me."

Leaving her to stand with nothing but her charts as a shield, Miles disappeared in the direction of the hall. _Oh well_, she reasoned, _can't make things worse if I don't get caught_. As she inched closer, no yelling could be heard, rare for them. Peering through the open doorway, she observed Stephen at his laptop and Kate fiddling absently with test tubes.

"…will need some idea of your intention." Kate was saying.

"You'll know when I do." Stephen never looked up from the screen, likely done with this conversation before it began.

Natalie could have sworn panic was forming lines in the ice queen's face. She was pretty, true enough, but her level of coldness was unrivaled. Stephen was considered by many to be abrasive, but this woman…

"You really don't know if you're coming back, do you?" The frigid voice seemed to thaw with something close to genuine concern.

He was silent for a moment, no longer focused on his work. "I can't answer that."

Kate put aside the rack of tubes, crossing her arms on her chest and sighing. There was clearly more she wanted to say and Kate arranged her features to fit a personal chat, a measure of her natural frigidness hidden. Natalie gave her no credit for the attempt, swearing there was ice beneath the skin. But then her voice left her mouth and it almost sounded…remorseful?

"We used to get along, you know. Ten lifetimes ago. Like normal people doing a normal job. You, me and an Irish pub, remember? But then…"

"I stopped drinking," Stephen finished, his voice growing as tired as he looked. Even more done with this topic than the last, Nat suspected.

Kate appeared surprised at the comment, but then nodded. "Yeah. I had to find a new drinking partner. Hated you for that."

"Among a great many other things," he said before returning to the computer. Most people would have taken the hint and retreated into a Stephen-less room. But not Kate Ewing.

If anything, she stood a bit straighter in her confusion. "So this little rift of ours is _my_ fault, then?" She gestured in the space between them, her tone incredulous.

"Absolutely."

Thus begins the next round, Natalie thought with guilty interest. The team had long collectively wondered what had prompted their feud. The theories were wide-ranging and farfetched.

It took Kate a moment to formulate her response into words. "What,,,what exactly did I do to deserve your contempt?"

Stephen shook his head, unaffected by the shrill volume Kate's voice was achieving. "You don't want this conversation."

"The hell I don't. I did nothing…"

"You called my pregnant wife," he rose from his chair. "At 3 in the morning and told her about our affair."

Nat's body set into a fit of trembling at this revelation. Her mind revolted against the crumbling of her established view of Connor's integrity. He would never…

Kate's mouth was open in equal shock. "But we…"

"My point exactly," he interrupted. "You gave her dates, times and places, which is interesting since it. Never. Happened."

Beating resumed slowly in Nat's clenched heart as she realized what he was now saying. There was no affair. And her view was glued back together. Stephen returned to his seat, the momentary strength vanishing. His voice lowered as though he spoke to himself more than her.

"Lisa... She said she believed me, but we were never the same. She didn't trust me anymore. And it got too hard to ignore, so I started spending more time away. Ten years later, we're divorced."

Amazingly, actual human tears flowed down Kate's cheeks. "I…I don't remember. I told her… why didn't you tell me?"

"It would accomplish nothing. When you drink too much you forget everything by morning. Besides," he hesitated, "I had other things to deal with."

"That's why you went…"

"Yeah. I knew I needed help. And this scared me into getting it."

Kate wiped the moisture from her face, backing up to lean on the wall behind her. "I didn't know why I'd lost your friendship. And then you went to rehab and I felt completely alone. I hated you for being gone a month. For not coming with me to the bar anymore." Slumping further against the pitted drywall, Kate sniffed before continuing. "I knew I was being punished for something. I just didn't understand."

"Now you do." He closed his eyes briefly, wincing after a deep breath, "And I'd prefer not to discuss this again."

Nodding, Kate gathered her medical bag and makeshift charts but stopped short of heading to the door. "Is it too late to ask your forgiveness?"

"No need." Then the half smile Nat loved emerged. "Which isn't to say that I like you."

Kate grinned back with a warmth unfamiliar to the observer. "Well, I don't like you either. But I sure do miss you."

She walked toward the doorway and Nat snapped out of her trance, recalling that she wasn't supposed to be here. A tap on her arm spun her around to find Miles gesturing to a room next door. A burst of lightening, followed by heavy rain announced yet another storm, not dissimilar to the one they'd just witnessed. It covered the sound of their door clicking closed behind them.

"That was… intense," Miles whispered.

Natalie couldn't respond, so focused was her brain in deciphering the information she'd gained. And her fury rose at Lisa Connor for doubting her husband. Though she hadn't known Stephen when drinking was an issue, the notion of rehab was more impossible to grasp. It did not seem in harmony with his solitary nature to seek help, nor admit needing it. Work was his therapy.

A hand on her shoulder snapped her contemplation. "She's gone now. Maybe you should…talk to him."

"Maybe I should tie him to a damned bed," she muttered and Miles' grin grew.

"Well, he is divorced now," he observed.

Slapped his hand from her, mocking annoyance. "Not like that." Which would have been more convincing had the blush not risen.

"I'm gonna suggest you listen to his lungs," Miles threw quietly over his shoulder as he exited.

Easier said than done, she mused. Connor would never let her near him with a stethoscope, his trust shattered by her betrayal. But she had to try. Creeping down the hall in the opposite direction, she turned around and began a noisier approach to dispel suspicion. Eavesdropping was another betrayal, after all. And it was disturbing, the way her lapses were piling up on this trip. Tapping on the doorframe, she waited for acknowledgement.

"It's open, Nat." The derision in his voice made her cringe.

Upon entering, she forced meekness down and attempted to take control of the room. "Before you get some rest, I need to check your lungs."

"No to both," he replied firmly, unwilling to relinquish said control. Surprise.

Inching a few steps closer, she stretched a discerning ear and heard his struggle for breath.

"You need to let me…"

"You can't tell me anything I don't already know."

Natalie pulled up a stool beside him. "So, lay out the self-diagnosis, doctor."

His tightening jaw verified how reluctant he was to do so. The computer screen held his attention, but she could outwait him. Finally, he closed the laptop, but withheld his gaze from her. It was always amazing, his capacity to look annoyed at any given situation.

"Just a little fluid. Nothing that can't wait til we'd done here."

The timeframe was not nearly good enough. "Get on a plane. We can wrap this up without you. We do actually know what we're doing."

"I know." He assured her. "Anyway, they won't fly in this weather."

"Stephen, you can't…" A hard knock on the wall startled them both. A gunman entered first, sweeping the room before grunting some kind of signal. The rebel leader stepped through the threshold, looking weary but determined.

"A moment?" It wasn't a request as his eyes were trained on Stephen. Nat huffed her displeasure at the dismissal.

"She stays," Stephen ordered. There was no need for challenge in his voice when he carried such authority. And it pleased her to be included rather than be sent away like some incapable child for her own safety.

The leader merely nodded. "My men are improving, as are my sons. You have gone to great trouble on our behalf and I seek to repay this." His English was halted but understandable, his tone polite, so unlike a typical treacherous villain.

'Repay?" Stephen pinned the slightly swaying man in place by the force of his glare. "Put your guns down and keep them down."

"How can we?" The rebel sighed. "They will not let us." Did he know how weak the excuse sounded?

"You're the aggressor." It was a bold assessment Nat imagined most men would get shot for voicing. But Connor was nothing if not brutally honest. Why should a gun-toting stranger be spared?

Considering this point, the soldier shrugged. "Perhaps. But you won't know if I do this or not," he reminded him, seemingly all too pleased with the loophole.

"You think I won't know?" And there was the challenge. Stephen wore that 'you wanna bet' expression and who could argue?

Laughing, the leader stepped back toward the door, then stopped. "In our ancestral days, we had two manner of men. The warrior and the wise man. I am a fighter. My father was wise. You, my friend, are the rare man who is both. I thank you." With a loose salute, he departed. A crack of lightening preceded a low vibrating rumble in the clouds.

Natalie looked to Stephen and caught an almost wistful cast to his features. "If only that were true."

"I can't argue with him." Nat reached a hand to his forehead, feeling the reduction of fever. His eyes closed briefly at her touch, and she took the opportunity to listen, hearing his troubled breathing, no worse than before. Outside, the near-monsoon raged, but its fury was nothing compared to the fight to come.

Her preparatory breath echoed in the silence. "Let me administer a pain-killer…"

"No." His mistrust was palpable and it choked her heart. "God knows what else you'll give me."

"Then let Frank do it," she conceded, stepping back slightly. "Sometimes, even the warrior/wise man needs more than an aspirin."

He looked away for a moment and she waited, holding her breath like a nervous teenager. Silly, really, but when she allowed the memory of their kiss to meander through her mind. A few more of those and maybe they could scatter a few walls to the four winds. A repeat was more unlikely every day and she mourned the loss like a loved one. Connor stole a glance at the antique wall clock and her eyes followed. 12:17 am. She stared at the dial in disbelief, wondering if the length of days was different down here.

A shift in the atmosphere had occurred during her musing and Natalie realized he was studying her.

"Okay," He whispered. Okay to what, she wasn't quite sure. The confusion must have shown. "You administer it." Surprise didn't cover the feeling at his words.

"O-okay." Very professional, she was indeed. "Morphine?"

"Low dose," he requested rather firmly.

"Second course of antibiotics?"

"If you insist." Connor conceded with the slightest grin, which quickly disappeared when she opened her mouth again. "No."

Smiling at his ability to read her mind, Nat accepted defeat, knowing a greater victory might lie ahead. On the walk back to their kitchen, Stephen conferred with HQ via phone, the reception surprisingly decent considering the weather. As the number of patients declined, so should the staff and Natalie prayed the exodus would begin with Connor. Of course, that would require far more sedatives than the hospital currently housed.

He caught her grin as he disconnected.

"What?" He asked softly, curious and amused looking good on him, she decided. Then again, what doesn't?

"Wondering what it would take to get you on the first plane out."

"One thing at a time, doctor."

He opened the door to their little hotel room in paradise and she followed, shutting and locking the door behind her. She chose a new I.V. bag and inserted a syringe of clearly marked antibiotics, giving him no reason to doubt her. The morphine was added with no argument and he lay back on the mattress with a groan. Not wishing to presume a place beside him, Nat knew she should appear otherwise occupied. However, her body did not cooperate in motion anymore than her mind obeyed her command to stop replaying their kiss.

Acknowledging her continued presence and perhaps her hopefulness, Stephen gingerly shifted to the near side of the bed, the invitation unmistakable. Carefully, she arranged herself next to him, thanking a very merciful God all the while. Nat couldn't imagine how she'd sleep without him and was grateful for one more night. The desperate romantic in her fancied that this was his motive as well.

"You still owe me a conversation," she reminded him quietly, knowing he was already gone.

She had intended to lie completely still, but the intimate proximity did things to her bones that made them entirely defiant. For the first ten minutes, she allowed only her eyes to wander, refusing to disturb him. But that resolve crumbled at minute 11. Her hand slid to his face, knuckles brushing over his temple, fingers tracing along his strong jaw and into his hair. He stirred lightly under her attentions and she began to pull away. But when she caressed his cheek one last time, he leaned into her touch. Immediately she became addicted to such a reaction. The miracle would not repeat, however, as he sank deeper into a morphine-induced darkness.

Once more her dislike of Lisa Connor boiled to the surface, but she tamped it down, realizing that had the woman not let him go, she wouldn't be here now. A good doctor never wastes an opportunity, she reasoned and her leg slid between his, one arm drifting gently across his stomach. Focusing on his labored breathing, Nat heard the gradual improvement afforded by the morphine's ease of the painful rib constriction. But the unmistakable sound of fluid was present and this worried her beyond the ability to sleep.

A wisp of storm-laced breeze stole through cracks in the makeshift shutters. Thunder now began a slow rumbling pace away from them, following the path left by the rain. Childish fears drew her arm closer around Stephen, the other worked its way down until her fingers could entwine with his. A leftover lightning bolt lit the room and her heart leapt into her throat. Unconsciously, Stephen's hand tightened in hers, calming her racing pulse. She squeezed back, fully aware he'd not remember it later. A late night T.V. movie she'd seen as a kid caused her fear of the sky's wrath. The unpredictable crashing of heaven's residents proving how little control humans had over their environment. Yet wrapped up with him, a feeling of safety blanketed her. There was an aura of power around him, as all of his patients knew. The man made all manner of things comply with his orders, be it illnesses, people or circumstance.

However, she thought sadly, he couldn't, or wouldn't, apply the same control to his personal life. That fell aside for his calling, and sympathy took over her thoughts of his wife. He was crafted to save others and how could Lisa compete with the pull of his destiny? Maybe that is why she let him go. Because she could no longer hold him there. Could no longer endure those nights alone when Nat and the patients of the world had him. While Natalie was at his side most days, his wife waited for a return that would never last long. His son waited too, which is why Stephen was leaving. Suddenly the thought of him boarding a plane out of here was last one her wish list. It could be the last time they worked together. Or worse…Destroy any opportunities to further this relationship. No, he would know her heart before this trip concluded. She'd told him in the heat of passion that she wanted him. But now she needed to convince him that she could love him, and perhaps already did. Knowing the conversation awaiting them, she forced herself to relax into sleep.

The first thing she noticed upon waking was the barest touch gracing the skin of her arm. Forcing her eyes to remain shut, she allowed herself to exist solely in this moment; almost fearful she was still dreaming. Her arm, draped across Connor's stomach, tingled wherever his touch had been. The contact seemed involuntary, as though he was unaware of his actions. Looking up at him, she found he was on the brink of waking. His hand stilled when she moved and the loss left her hungry. He shifted slightly, then slowly opened his eyes. Embarrassed at being caught studying, she lifted her head to seek the clock. 40 minutes had passed and the storm had ceased. When she turned back, she watched as his eyes drifted shut, then opened again.

"Stephen," she called softly. "Don't fight it…. Or you'll force me to sing you to sleep."

That heart-stopping half smile appeared. "Depends."

She grinned at his sleepy voice. Still firm and certain, but so much softer. "I sound like Sheryl Crowe. Being choked. In a tunnel. Underwater."

His chuckle elicited a sharp wince. "Don't make me laugh."

"Sorry." Natalie laid a hand gently over his heart. "Okay. No singing then."

Closing his eyes, Stephen sank deeper into the pillow. "Just…talk to me."

The request surprised her and her higher octave showed it. "About what?"

"Don't care." He muttered. "Anything."

Knowing he was closer to sleep than he wanted to be, Natalie sighed. She shouldn't help keep him awake, but how could she refuse him? Thus began the verbal dissertation on her life. Parents, school, odd jobs, phobias and the like were detailed in a ramble. Her head returned to its place on his good shoulder sometime during the Reagan administration and he covered her still-tingling arm with his for the tale of NIH, year one. Her words never paused and she never formed a question in her prose that required a response.

A faint knock on the door interrupted her rambling. When Stephen failed to move, she realized she'd lost her audience. Frank peered into the room and Natalie had precious few seconds to wonder where he'd gotten a key. Her mind quickly focused on how her current position must look but she'd be damned if she'd let Powell question her again.

"You two seem…" He waved a hand in search of an appropriate word, "comfortable."

"We are," she affirmed with no shame. "I won't accept another word on the matter." She then waited for the attack.

Frank merely shrugged. "How's he doin'?"

Releasing a relieved sigh, Natalie shook her head. "If you could hear him breathe, you'd have a fit."

Powell's eyebrows knitted before he smirked, "Well, you've obviously closer to him that I am…"

"Trust me then. It's concerning, but you know him. Still, the morphine's doing its job and so am I." When his mouth opened, Nat raised a hand. "And no, there's nothing in the bag he isn't aware of."

"So, uh… what's next?"

Smiling, Natalie lowered her voice. "We get him on the next damned plane home."

Powell rubbed his hands together as he backed to the door. He liked a good conspiracy against his old friend. "It may take that army out there, but we'll manage."

"Thanks Frank. For everything."

Lowering his gaze, he had the decency to look embarrassed. "Look, sorry I was less than supportive of this…catnap arrangement."

Natalie smiled. Is that what this was? Did she care? "Forgiven. Make it up to us by letting whatever happens be our choice."

With an understanding nod, Powell relocked the door and exited. Nat returned to her position against Connor, a personal favorite place and closed her eyes. Sleep was instant and dreams were few. For them both.


	7. Chapter 7

I present for your consideration the final installment of The Virtue of Catnaps. I seek forgiveness for the lengthy wait. But I am hopeful this wrap up satisfies all manner of shippiness.

**The Virtue of Catnaps (Part 7)**

Clarity arrived at approximately 1:27pm on Saturday. By the third load of laundry, an initial awareness of her state had tingled in a corner of her brain. But when she'd flopped on the couch with only a college football game for company, she was convinced.

She was approaching pathetic.

On this sunny work-free day, Natalie had caught up on neglected chores, cooked a queen-sized and ultimately wasted lunch and was now watching a sport she didn't understand. Upon reaching the bottom of the BBQ Pringles can, Natalie reevaluated her problem.

Quite simply, it was the fault of the phone. It didn't ring, despite silent pleading and numerous huffs in its direction. Not a single ring. But it surely would if she dared to leave her apartment. So she stayed. And waited.

Yesterday had brought to a close the most brutal and fruitless three weeks she could recall. Long as a cover to cover reading of War and Peace. All 1456 pages. And she was hardly alone in that assessment. Powell described their leaderless days as a daily root canal. Painful and useless. Each member had been loaned out to work other cases within the confines of the NIH building. No field trips, no patient contact, no job satisfaction.

No Connor. And there was a chance that might not change.

It was Stephen's intention, Powell explained yesterday, to notify Director Ewing of his decision Saturday morning. Which meant that while Nat tried to comprehend a two-point conversion, Kate already knew what the future held. The team would likely be forced to wait until Monday to learn their fate. A personal 'head's up' from Connor was hardly expected. It wasn't his style. Which didn't keep her from waiting by the phone anyway.

Because he still owed her a conversation.

So much unfulfilled waiting made her tired. Sliding her legs out from under her to fill the lonely sofa, Natalie tried to nap. The cushions were soft, but the space was too constricted for comfort. The bed served her no better, the large mattress emphasizing the emptiness. Goldilocks she wasn't, but the fairytale held truth. Unfortunately, 'Just Right' was last seen on a plane out of Colima.

Sleep hadn't been easy since they'd returned to the U.S. and a lack of it was gladly blamed for her hand reaching for the receiver. Curiosity would be faulted for the number she dialed. And her current journey toward pathetic-ness nearly caused a hang up. Until the call was answered.

"Hi Natalie." Damn that caller ID. "I was wondering how long it would take."

His relaxed voice was so welcoming to her ears. As was the apparent expectedness of her call. Natalie returned to her spot on the couch, prepared to make this conversation a turning point.

"I was trying to give you space. But I got tired of waiting."

"Not like you to lose patience. I'm disappointed." His scold was tempered by the teasing tone.

"Testing patience is one of your best skills, Dr. Connor. So…"

He hesitated, knowing what she was asking. "What are you doing right now?"

The change of direction wasn't unusual, but Natalie's nerves were on the verge of exploding within her body. Was a simple answer so hard for this man?

"I'm, uh, watching a football game."

"Who's playing?" Stephen sounded mildly surprised at her chosen activity. How could she explain that she'd run out of chores to do instead?

"Playing?" Natalie squinted to view her small television. "Um, there are guys in blue and white and guys in red and white." Congratulating herself on her descriptiveness, Natalie added, "I think they're all college students."

"You have no idea what's happening on the screen, do you?" Damn him for knowing her so well.

"Not a clue. What's the point of punting? Why voluntarily give the ball to the other team without scoring? What's a tailback?"

"Dr. Durant rambles on Saturdays. Duly noted." The laughter remained in his voice and Natalie relaxed further. Turning point indeed. "Come over."

She almost missed that. And then nearly dropped the phone. Come over? Was he serious? Realizing she hadn't accepted or declined the invitation, Nat scrambled for speech.

"Um, really? Okay." Oh so slick. No wonder she was single.

"I'll provide the beer and football explanation. You provide the company. Seems fair."

"And the answer?" The original purpose of this call, she reminded herself. Although an invite to Casa Connor made not knowing a bit easier to bear.

"And the answer." He confirmed, a familiar seriousness returning to his voice.

………

Regaling Connor with the cases she'd assisted with during the last few weeks, Natalie left out what was missing. The demands, the arguments and the tension. They'd all suffered with the lack of Connor's unique brand of leadership. Natalie tried several times since arriving to steer him toward the promised answer. But he was far more interested in the cases they'd all been farmed out to.

"Sounds…busy."

Stephen handed her a cold, non-alcoholic beer while she flipped to the game she'd tried to follow before. He'd said it was in the fourth quarter and Natalie nodded as though that gave her a timeframe of any sort.

His overstuffed leather couch, surprisingly cream-colored, enveloped her in comfort and she surmised he probably slept here more often then his bed. The living room, sparsely furnished, was modern and tasteful. And held little black. Even Connor himself wore a navy blue shirt today. The flat screen plasma television she now watched with envy spoke loudly to the 'guy-ness' of her boss. An Xbox, stored neatly under the TV, reminded her that he had a son.

"Where's Jack?"

Settling beside her, Connor smiled. "He went back to Lisa yesterday. I think we're back on track."

Which was the important thing, after all. Natalie felt a bit selfish in wanting Connor to return so fiercely that she'd forgotten why he left in the first place. But that failed to lessen her need for his answer.

"Are you coming back?" She asked firmly, holding his gaze to ensure he didn't evade the subject.

"You're as persistent as Kate." He shook his head, then caught her bristle at the comparison. To soften the insult he took her hand, the resulting contact almost stealing her focus. "Yes."

Her first breath in three weeks filled her lungs with such pleasure. Armed with this knowledge, Natalie opted to resurrect her boldness, which had worked well in Colima.

"I said we needed to talk when you came back from the North. And you conveniently got shot. Nice avoidance tactic, by the way." He dropped his gaze along with her hand but she pressed on. "You've decided on the NIH issue. Now you need to decide on us."

A moment was given to gathering his thoughts and Natalie could only look for a port in the storm of his eyes. After biting his bottom lip, a deep breath announced he would speak.

"My track record should tell you why we shouldn't."

"So your divorce is a relationship killer while mine is perfectly okay? What's the difference?"

Apparently stunned that she didn't see it clearly, Stephen's posture stiffened. "You know how I am, Nat. My priorities don't make a relationship easy. I know I've got to change for my son. But for us to…" Whatever was propelling his words seemed to run out of steam. "I'm not the one for you."

It was naïve to think he would have been ready to transition into something personal so soon, but she wasn't leaving this conversation, much less this couch without some signal of hope.

"I won't ask you for time you don't have. I already have the advantage of working with you. And I'm not asking for a commitment of any kind. I just," gingerly, Natalie chose her words. "I want what we had in Colima. Comfort with each other. A little non-professional contact. It doesn't have to be difficult."

Shifting her body to lean into him, Natalie called upon her reserve of daring to kiss him; gentle, soft, barely there. Let him seek more. And she wasn't disappointed.

"Not too difficult?" Natalie teased and was rewarded with a grin. "We can have this." What was meant as assurance sounded almost like permission. And maybe that was all he needed.

"We can." He echoed in a whisper that declared his newest decision. In their favor. "Did I mention you were persistent?"

Glaring in mock affront, Natalie poked a finger to his chest. "If you compare me to Kate again…"

"I promise you, I never kissed Kate." The appropriate disgust tinted his tone, making it all too believable.

"Good. Because the nightmares would have kept me up for weeks."

Not that she'd slept lately. Without him. As if to punctuate the point she yawned, which he didn't miss. Pulling her down against him, she immediately snuggled in for a long overdue catnap.


End file.
